


nothing moves inside you

by gaspille



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Choking, Jeremy Blaire is Not a Well Man, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 10:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18497368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaspille/pseuds/gaspille
Summary: “You’re going to cooperate with me, aren’t you, Park? You can be good?”(Jeremy takes some time to personally farewell employee 1466.)





	nothing moves inside you

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the scene in the server room / before Waylon is institutionalized. Views expressed by Jeremy Blaire do not represent my own.  
>    
> [Title](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWjYdKX3Mv4)

He has the guards leave Park dribbling blood onto the server room floor; his body folded into itself like a dying spider. 

This is fitting for Jeremy, given how much of a venomous idiot Park turned out to be. No doubt he’d thought Jeremy to be weak; afraid of getting his hands dirty, but that’s never been him. Especially not the Jeremy existing down here. At Mount Massive, violence can be tolerated. Complacency cannot.

He looks at Park, near-lobotomized through blunt force trauma. He moans softly when Jeremy rolls him onto his back with his foot, flinching as he crouches beside him. 

“You only did this to yourself,” Jeremy tells him, and Park’s eyes glow with hatred as he stares at him, as if Jeremy’s the one in the wrong. He doesn’t register what he’s done until some seconds later when he’s shaking out his fist, two of the knuckles split open on Park’s nose. “You dumb bitch,” he says, and Park clutches at his nose, the blood spilling from it a syrupy red in the artificial light. “You really thought that would work? Or trying to get my attention?” 

Park’s eyes bulge at the accusation, but he stays silent. His lips, Jeremy notices, are puffy and split from the beating, and parted, which strikes him as lewd, intentionally so. Hell, it would be far from the first time an employee had tried to fuck their way out of disciplinary action.

 _Don’t shit where you eat,_ Jeremy reminds himself, but it’s hard to remember why not, exactly. He has such sick dreams here. In them, the girls have the same expression as Park does now, heir faces smeared red with lipstick instead of blood as he fucks their mouths, their cunts, their asses. Every night they come to him, and still each morning he wakes aching, the glut of need ever-present in his stomach, no matter how hard he touches himself. As if he’s weak, or pornsick, like so many of his subordinates. The difference being if he doesn’t fuck something soon, he fears might go mad with want, and Murkoff will gut him like they gutted Rick. That, or his cock will simply rot off, and he’ll bleed out during one of their endless board meetings.

If only Park hadn’t provoked him so openly. If he hadn’t given him the excuse, Jeremy wouldn’t have to do this. Wouldn’t have to pin Park’s arms above his head as he straddles him, Park’s panicked moans swallowed by the whirring of the servers around them. He wouldn’t have to, but he is.

Jeremy ruts hard against Park’s stomach, as if attempting to fuck a hole through his sweater and into the warms guts underneath. Gasping, Park bucks frantically beneath him, but Jeremy doesn’t feel it. The need inside him is so urgent he nearly comes right there, spoils the whole thing before it’s even begun. To stave off his orgasm, he pictures Park as an inmate; lesions weeping down his face as the engine runs a train on him. A foot pinning his head to the ground as another inmate fucks him from behind. A carcinogenic cock sliding into his throat. Park wailing as he comes into his own fist. Park, fucked to death.

The thoughts are unrelenting, but they don’t disgust Jeremy nearly as much as he would’ve hoped. He forces himself to sit back onto his haunches, palms resting on his thighs as if in meditation. It would be unwise, he reminds himself, to allow this to become something out of his control.

“You’re going to cooperate with me, aren’t you, Park? You can be good?” Park cringes at the words, then nods once. “So show me. Take off your clothes.”

Dumb fear replaces the hate in Park’s eyes, which turns sluggish, glassy. His gaze is a million miles away as he fumbles with his sweater and belt, this clothes ending up in a pile behind his head. He gets skittish when he reaches his underwear, his fingers frozen beneath the waistband. Waiting for the final confirmation that yes, this is going to happen to him. 

Jeremy clears his throat. “If you want to waste my time I’ll have to have _Lisa_ make it up to me.” 

One mention of his cunt wife, and Park rips off his underwear like it’s a bandaid. Shivering, he lies back on the floor, eyes screwed closed. Park’s body is scarless and unremarkable; his cock a small, wilted thing against his closed thighs. Jeremy unthreads the belt out of Park’s discarded jeans and gathers his wrists in his hands, knotting the belt around them. The leather is worn and cheap — more of a symbolic restraint, but it elicits a low, animal groan from Park, which is enough for him. 

Jeremy parts Park’s thighs with his knee and settles between his legs; flung out on either side of him, like he’s fallen from some great height. Unzipping himself with one hand, Jeremy spits hard in the other. His mouth is dry with excitement, and there’s barely enough spittle to cover the head of his cock, but it doesn’t matter. This distraction has gone on for too long already.

It doesn’t feel good, not right away. Jeremy grips Park by the knot of leather around his wrists and forces him onto his cock. He’s so tight that Jeremy has barely made it inside before he has to thrust, too frenzied to feel any of the pain Park does. A cool shiver shoots through his spine, all stress rescinding to the edges of his brain.

Inch by inch, he shoves through the tight ring of muscle until finally bottoming out, the pressure no longer threatening to snap his cock clean in half. Park howls, white-hot and writhing beneath him. His face contorts as Jeremy slaps him across the face to calm him, clumps of blood smearing across the back of his hand.

Jeremy fucks him in long, smooth thrusts, speeding up when Park stops panting and thrashing, his body all but sunken into the concrete below. His hands find their own way around Park’s throat and Jeremy squeezes without thinking. He does it lightly at first, testing the resistance, then presses harder and harder. Park’s sclera turns a watery red, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. Bound hands claw at Jeremy’s, Park’s entire body trembling with effort.

The outside world dulls around Jeremy, his orgasm rushing full force towards him. The harder he squeezes Park’s throat, the tighter Park clenches around him, so it becomes a race - to come before he strangles him to death. If Park does die, could he stop himself? Would he? As long as Park stays warm and tight, he supposes, it won’t matter much either way. 

Briefly, Jeremy imagines Park red-faced and streaked with his come, but decides against it. It’ll be kinder to send Park to his fate already dripping wet inside. The other inmates won’t be this gentle.

He burrows as far into Park as he can, and the realization breaks clean-through the dwindling oxygen in Park’s brain. His head flops from side to side as he struggles, lips mouthing _no, no, no._ He’s more afraid now than ever, like it matters to him that Jeremy’s not wearing a condom. Like he was ever going to be clean again.

Summoning the last of his strength, Jeremy clamps his hand around Park’s windpipe. Park’s body seizes and lurches off the ground, his teeth clinking together in his skull, and the sensation rushes straight through Jeremy. There’s a tell-tale heat pooling in his belly, a tightening in his balls. Closing his eyes, he focuses inwards, until Park exists only as a twitching mound of flesh on his cock.

He keeps Park suspended and choking in the air until he comes, and the relief is so strong he has to brace one arm against Park’s chest to keep himself from collapsing on top of him. He feels ten years younger; bursting with adrenaline, as if everything is within reach, idiot subordinates be damned. In his post-orgasm haze, the sounds Park makes as he sucks in air may as well be coming from another universe.

The moment of calm afterwards is disconcerting. Jeremy had thought there would be more screaming, a last-ditch struggle for freedom. Instead, Park remains beached on the floor as he does; gaze fixed on the ceiling instead of the come leaking out from between his thighs, flecked with blood. Fuck, he’s going to have to get someone to clean it up.

Jeremy wipes himself off across Park’s thigh, and begrudgingly unties his chaffing his wrist. He climbs to feet and zips his fly, suddenly wishing he were anywhere else. Already, the all-consuming need is light years away, and what remains is an embarrassing reminder of his own limitations, his failure to keep his subordinates in line. 

“Get dressed,” he snaps, nudging Park in the ribs with his foot. “Or I’ll have the guards drag you to your cell like this.”

This time, he anticipates the hatred in Park’s eyes and it provokes little anger from him (although he pictures smearing Park’s windpipe into the floor anyway, for a laugh). Let Park hate him while he can still string a thought together, let it comfort him before he ceases to exist; obliterated inside the engine alongside any evidence of Jeremy’s failings. 

He does not wait for Park to follow through. Turning on his heel, he leaves him where he found him, alone and trembling in the dark.


End file.
